No one hesitated and all made to climb the trees. Draven’s grunt swam between the shrieks of the dead as Riley helped him up, his boots digging into her shoulders.
The horde was approaching.
I bit my bottom lip, watching as Riley’s blue ponytails slapped on her back each time she glanced at the army of the dead. She let out a scream of despair, the hot liquid biting into her skin.
Come on. Come on.
Draven caught onto a branch, extending a hand for his friend.
It was too late. The skeletons lunged, and the forest was overwhelmed by the sounds of ripping flesh and the smell of burning skin.
“Riley!” Draven roared, his arm still hanging in the air.
Her last scream was as quiet as a whisper.
We didn’t have time to process the chaos that had just unfolded. A circle of the dead formed around Riley’s body, their putrid scent filling the air as they tore off her skin. That didn’t stop the rest of the army from continuing its march, their boots crunching on the ground.
A shiver, cold and dreadful, coursed down my spine as the dead began coming after us.
“Run!” was all I said before I bolted onto the next tree.
With each step and jump, Riley’s cries of pain played in my mind like a broken record. Once again, I forced the memory down. Now was not the time.
I pursed my lips and lunged for another branch. On purpose, I let my foot slide, crying out as I grabbed the wood, the sharp edges of it tearing into my palms. I hung there, my legs swinging in the air. My eyebrows drew together, grunting and fighting to get myself back to safety.
My heart pounded against my ribs. The moment I dreaded was now fast approaching.
With a dry swallow, I tilted my head back and flung my legs around the branch. I twisted underneath it, stealing a glance at the crimson’s liquid level. Still low.
Not yet.
I hoisted my body up, my feet finding solace on the solid surface and let out a sigh of relief. They were watching me. I had to be convincing.
As I went on, I weaved through the forest, the screeches of the dead ushering closer with each jump I took. Without hesitating, I sprang to the next branch. The impact came without warning—a result of a miscalculated jump—the crown of my skull meeting the trunk as the air in my lungs blasted out in a single, painful grunt. My teeth clacked together, my cheek scraped against the oak center as I fell, despite the fact that my arms and legs were curled around it.
The tree was too thick.
A slow and warm trail of blood trickled through my hairline to the side of my face. Desperate, I dug my nails into the wood, nails splintering open with each inch closer to the river of blood.
The world swam as darkness edged in. I blinked, trying to clear the spots dancing in my vision, but they wouldn’t stop. No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
I screamed, the heat of the liquid washing over my skin where the tree had already torn open new wounds.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Charon, the Ferryman of the Forgotten, I call you across the Styx!” I shouted as loud as my lungs could handle, my words desperate.
The burning blood ripped through my shirt and skin, and a howl of pure agony escaped my lips. My vision tunneled, narrowing to a single point of burning red.
Come on.
The rough bark scored at my palms, splinters piercing the tender skin. I didn’t know where to focus my attention—on the burns that were blistering across my back or the throbbing, searing pain in my hands.
I couldn’t hold on anymore.
Where was he? Charon was supposed to appear as soon as he was summoned.
A shiver ran down my spine as the hotness of the liquid crawled its way on my arms, sneaking behind my ears and into my hair. My fingers dug deeper into the rough bark, scraping loudly as I fought against my impending death below.
